


Tradition

by LadyYateXel



Series: Deep Dish Nine [6]
Category: Deep Dish Nine - Fandom, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Deep Dish Nine au, Holiday, Illustrated, M/M, Not Christmas, i am not good with tags, warm fluffy stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 00:39:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyYateXel/pseuds/LadyYateXel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Julian spends the night in Garak's apartment for Reclaiming, a winter-time Cardassian light holiday. </p><p> </p><p>---</p><p>Part of the Deep Dish Nine pizza shop AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tradition

**Author's Note:**

> There is no Christmas in my Deep Dish Nine world, so this is not a Christmas fic, but instead a holiday feeling fic plus some gentle background Cardassian worldbuilding and sweet G/B nonsense. It is literal sweetness and light.
> 
> This hasn't been picked at or edited heavily or even seen by a human other than me before it goes up here, it was just made with warm fuzzies, so please be kind to it. <3

 

* 

 

“I've never had to to so much research before attending parties as I've had to do this winter.”

 

“But what a credit to you that you did research at all. You are a paragon of virtue.”

 

“Just know that you're lucky I like you.”

 

Julian can only play inconvenienced and frazzled for so long and smiles so fondly at Garak it hurts. Garak beams back at him from just inside the door.

 

“Lovely to see you, Julian.”

 

“You too.” He shifts the grocery bag of things he was told to bring in his arms. “There isn't a door ritual I haven't learned about is there?”

 

Garak laughs somewhere in his throat. “No, no, come in.”

 

Garak's apartment, usually lush and rich but quite dark, now glows from every surface. Lights hang in loose waves from the ceiling and wrap through the swaths of fabric on the walls. Tiny candles flicker on bookshelves and shiny counter tops. Even less magical surfaces like the television and microwave are mirroring the glow from everywhere else. Both intimate and infinite, the room is saturated in the aroma of spice.

 

“Good...” Julian trails off, staring at dancing shadows and surfaces reflecting so much light they seem made of water. He hardly feels Garak pull the bag from his failing grip. “It looks _amazing_ in here,” Julian finally manages.

 

Garak smiles and bows his head in polite acknowledgment as he sets the bag down on the kitchen counter.

 

None of Garak's everyday lights are on, not even the soothing lamp by the sofa. Everything in the room is illuminated by the hundreds of tiny bulbs and flames. Frankly, Julian had expected something a bit more cheesy and far less elegant when Garak asked that he spend a night for a holiday.

 

Garak takes Julian's hand and makes a very deliberate show of interlacing their fingers. “Thank you for coming, my dear.”

 

“How could I not?”

 

 

Garak's free hand settles on Julian's chest. It doesn't take more than a second or two for loving and sweet to turn into teasing. “You have so many friends throwing parties this time of year. There could have been someone _else_ you'd like to inflict this sweater on.”

 

“Oh, no one but you. You _deserve_ it.” Julian tightens his grip on Garak's hand, stressing the interlock of their fingers as much as he can. Garak's eyes actually a widen for a moment before narrowing quickly to join a devilish grin in progress.

 

When Julian's friends discover he's going to spend the night at Garak's, this is not what they imagine. In their minds, they've often told him, Julian goes to see Garak and is immediately flung against a wall and then dragged off to bed. To their credit, this is not an unrealistic image of events as they have occasionally occurred before and as they will likely occur again, but more often, there's this gentle battle of snark matched with increasingly tangled hands until someone gives in, then a proper Cardassian greeting joined with a kiss.

 

It's all very ritual, but there's nothing stale or obligatory about it. Through their glances, flashes of teeth, new and interesting finger configurations, and the endless stream of wit and private jokes laced through this tradition, it's become a thrilling game. It's observing ritual while trying to combat it at the same time, which in a circular sort of way, has become part of the ritual too. It's the most lovingly hostile thing Julian has ever experienced, and is thus not only quite Garak, but very Cardassian.

 

Garak is warm and wonderful and Julian could stay with arms wrapped around him forever. His stomach, however, is not wild about the plan. He steps back, away from soft sweater and contented humming. “Lovely as this is, you told me to show up hungry.”

 

“I did.”

 

“What am I smelling?”

 

“Things that are all going home with you after this evening.”

 

Julian laughs and nudges Garak's forehead with his own. “So it's all delicious, then?”

 

“Unfortunately.”

 

“How sad for me.”

 

Garak blinks up at him, and if ever a man could plead and smirk at once, Garak does. “There is one thing I need your help with before you can eat, however.”

 

“Lights and relaxing, you told me. No obligations to do anything, you said.” He's not even a little bit angry, but hostile flirting seems to happen automatically now.

 

“This is _traditional_. Would you deny me a tradition?”

 

“As though I'd deny you anything.” He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but the grin from Garak is worth sounding a bit far gone. If the lights alone make him sound like this, any alcohol he consumes later will have him spewing sonnets.

 

Garak tugs gently on Julian's wrist. “Come on, my dear, it will be quick.”

 

 

 *

 

 

“You just want me to stick my thumb in it?”

 

Garak frowns. “You don't have to say it like that.”

 

“But that's what you want, isn't it?”

 

“Yes. I need you to pinch the center while I hold the seams.”

 

There are twelve little dumplings lined up in a little desert of flour on Garak's counter top. How Garak had time to make them all, along with all the other desserts plus a soup and some sort of casserole, Julian has no idea. The dumplings are beautifully made already, if one can say that about food, and Garak's insisting that Julian should smush one on purpose makes him uneasy.

 

“I don't suppose you can show me how to do it first? I don't want to ruin them.”

 

“You won't ruin them, you'll be finishing them.”

 

Julian takes a breath like he's preparing to deal with a real live ailing human for the first time and rolls up his sleeves. “Okay, here goes.”

 

He immediately tears a hole in the first one.

 

“Shit, sorry.”

 

“Not to worry, it will be fine.” Garak makes no attempt to repair the torn dumpling, he just moves on to seal the next one. “Did you see these in your research?”

 

One last glance is given to the torn dumpling before Julian attempts the next one. “Well, sort of.”

 

No tears in this one, no leaks either. Just a pinched dent in the soft dough.

 

 

Garak looks far prouder than he ought to be. “Perfect. Just ten more.” He slides to the next one, all proper smiles. “Tell me what 'sort of' means.”

 

“Well, in this case, it means I was able to find out that these were traditionally eaten during Reclaiming, but not a clear explanation of why. They don't seem to have anything to do with light returning, or the prevailing of the Cardassian ideals over Hebitian ones.”

 

Garak flashes a delighted smile. “Oh, you _did_ do some research!”

 

“Of course I did, why would I lie about it?”

 

“To impress me, surely.”

 

Julian elbows him. It's been surprising how much hostile flirting has worked for him.“You'll have me assimilated eventually. I might as well learn where I'm headed.”

 

On to another dumpling and Garak makes a face. “Oh, I do wish you wouldn't use 'assimilate.' Reminds me of some unsavory sorts of people.”

 

“You know all about unsavory people, of course.”

 

“Oh, there are worse than me about. Look, I'm making dumplings with pleasant and lovely company, can I be all bad?”

 

Julian smirks. “Not _all_ bad, no. _”_ Only a tiny tear in this dumpling. Julian doesn't mention it, and Garak smiles right through it.

 

“As for these,” Garak continues, pressing into the next one, “they're here because you can only make them with help. With only two hands, you can't hold the seams and pinch the center without losing the filling. I'm afraid there are some unflattering historical state reasons for the association with Reclaiming – which is likely why you couldn't find any information – but nowadays, they're a bit romantic. You're not to make them unless you have the proper help.”

 

Never before had the idea of squishing dough made Julian think 'sweet', 'touching,' or 'romantic,' and yet here it was happening. _These lights have me in sentimental overdrive and I do not care._ “I don't know how 'proper' I am, but I'm glad I get to help.”

 

“I would have no one else.”

 

They finish the rest without a single tear.

 

*

 

 

“Hey, don't mind if I do!”

 

“You're meant to wait for these.” Judging by his smile, there's no way Garak didn't expect Julian to steal one of the pink tarts.

 

Julian pops the entire treat in his mouth. “Izzat tra'shon doo?”

 

“Oh, chew it first!”

 

Julian swallows and tries to keep from laughing too hard. “Can I eat it or not? Make up your mind!”

 

Garak sets the tray down on the table in front of the couch. “I suppose you might as well.”

 

“Don't worry,” Julian says, scooping several into his hand, “I'll still eat all my disgusting Cardassian vegetables.”

 

“I will keep you here until you do.”

 

“In that case, you ought to make some more of these, I'm never leaving.”

 

“Please tell me that is not an idle threat, my dear.”

 

 

*

 

“They aren't quite done, just a few more minutes.”

 

“Good, stay right there.”

 

“What?”

 

“Just stay there, and close your eyes.”

 

Garak stays where he stands, but frowns at Julian rifling through the bag he brought with him. “What are you doing?”

 

“Are they closed?”

 

“No!”

 

“Then we'll stand here all night.”

 

Garak angrily scrunches his eyes shut and crosses his arms.

 

“You're like a middle-aged toddler.”

 

“You're only as old as you feel,” Garak recites with a sniff.

 

Julian pulls the box of Garak's favorite chocolates from the bottom of his bag. “I suppose that works well for us. Hold out your hands, please.”

 

The amazing part, though, even if he's putting on a grand show of acting childish, is that Garak has done this at all. This from the man who was too jumpy to sleep with Julian in his apartment for a month. From the man who chased Julian with clear interest but kept his phone number protected like a government secret until he was certain it was necessary to share it. From the man who still, on rare occasions, jumped if Julian made the tiniest noise after a span of silence.

 

Julian can say, 'close your eyes,' and with only minimal drama queen fuss, Garak does it. Garak trusts him.

 

“You weren't supposed to bring anything.”

 

“But I did.” He settles the box into Garak's hands and tucks a bit of hair behind Garak's ear. Garak hums - practically purrs - when Julian touches him. “You're going to have to suffer through my break with tradition or start a new one.”

 

 

*

 

 

Hot tea. Warm, fickering gold light. Sitting so close their knees are jammed together at awkward angles.

 

“Is tea part of Reclaiming?”

 

“Tea is part of everything.” Garak sips from his mug with eyes locked on Julian.

 

Julian laughs softy across his tea, puffing a small cloud of steam around his face. “You sound like my parents.”

 

Garak pats Julian's knee. “My apologies.”

 

“You can make it up to me.”

 

“Certainly. I have at least three Reclaiming films for you to enjoy.”

 

This could as easily be a threat as a reward. _I'm celebrating a Cardassian holiday, I should probably expect that._

 

“I'm ready when you are.”

 

“Wonderful.”

 

Julian watches Garak fuss with all the remotes, buttons, settings and controls needed to start their entertainment for the evening and marvels that Garak can even make struggling between Video Mode 1 and HD 2 look elegant.

 

He settles next to Julian again and the film's score begins with the quiet tinkling of bells. Julian turns toward him and holds out his mug. “Drink with me?”

 

 

“A toast with tea?”

 

“It's part of everything, remember?”

 

“Of course.” He smiles and huddles in close, offering up his mug to clink against Julian's.

 

“To finding light.”

 

They drink, but Garak tsks as he looks into his empty mug.  "A bit late for that, truthfully."

 

“Oh?”

 

He nods toward Julian. “I've already found mine.” 

 

*


End file.
